blinked, trying to clear her vision. “Thanks,” she whispered.
“Come on,” Trina murmured, motioning to her. “Our dog is in the car.”
Chapter 9
Trina led her back through the hospital. They didn’t speak, and June moved in a haze, trembling, fighting tears. She kept seeing Micha’s gaunt face, hearing the despair and doom in his voice.
Outside, under the blazing sun, June stopped on the steps leading up to the hospital. Instead of following Trina down to the parking lot, she sat, drew her knees up, and wrapped her arms around them.
Trina stopped a few steps down and looked back at her. She had sunglasses on. June had forgotten hers in the car. She wasn’t used to having accessories again.
“You okay?” Trina asked.
“I just… I need a minute.” She told herself she would not throw up. Keeping a meal down was a nice change of pace. “You should have told me.”
“I didn’t know how.”
June rocked on the step. “I don’t want Sam to see me like this.”
“I think he would understand.”
“Maybe I don’t want him to.”
Trina looked out at the parking lot. “I’ll go wait in the car. Take a minute, whatever you need. I’ll tell him you needed to clear your head.”
Trina continued down the steps.
June was cold, though the air was hot. Her interior had frozen, deep down under her skin, where the sun couldn’t reach. Freedom was not the glorious thing she’d hoped it would be. People she cared about were still suffering, some of them still trapped. She remained helpless and defenseless; two things she’d gotten used to but had sincerely hoped she would finally be able to shed.
She wiped at her leaking eyes, sniffing. People passed by and glanced at her, but no one stopped. Perhaps they were used to people crying in front of the hospital.
A few minutes later, Sam crossed the lot toward her.
She took a deep breath and steeled herself; still, when he sat down beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder, she fell apart.
She slumped against his side, sobs wrenching out of her, the ones that had been threatening to break free in Micha’s room. She tucked her head against his shoulder, hands over her face, and he wrapped an arm around her. He was taking a risk, sitting with her out in public, and she was drawing even more attention to them.
He stroked her hair and didn’t say a word until her sobs tapered off.
“I take it he’s not doing well?” No sarcasm in his voice.
She wiped her face. Her cheeks were soaked with tears, her nose running. “He doesn’t deserve this,” she choked out.
“No, he doesn’t.”
Sam could predict the future, or else he knew what a crybaby she’d turned into. Like the night before when she saw her mother, he was ready with a wad of tissues. She took them and drew back, mopping her face.
Sam rubbed her shoulder.
“We shouldn’t be sitting here,” she said. “If someone realizes who we are, they might put two and two together and realize Micha is here.”
“Wouldn’t that be a shame? Then these doctors and scientists would have to put up with the press hounding them too.”
She still felt queasy, but not like throwing up, thankfully.
“He looks awful.” She propped her fists under her chin, hands full of tissues. “He looks like a corpse. He’s lost so much weight.”
“Eric’s noble work.”
“He keeps talking like he’s going to die. He doesn’t believe they’ll be able to make him better. He’s so pessimistic. All this talk about how he’s making the ultimate sacrifice for us.”
Sam huffed. “Quite full of himself, isn’t he? He’s starting to sound like me.”
She stared dully across the lot. Sunlight glinted on the cars. Her eyes hurt. They were swollen, her nose burning.
“He thinks he deserved this,” she said. “That all his presumptions led to this. I kept telling him it’s not his fault. He was a lab rat, like so many of us were.”
“What if he is dying? Will you be able to make peace with
“Come on,” Trina murmured, motioning to her. “Our dog is in the car.”
Chapter 9
Trina led her back through the hospital. They didn’t speak, and June moved in a haze, trembling, fighting tears. She kept seeing Micha’s gaunt face, hearing the despair and doom in his voice.
Outside, under the blazing sun, June stopped on the steps leading up to the hospital. Instead of following Trina down to the parking lot, she sat, drew her knees up, and wrapped her arms around them.
Trina stopped a few steps down and looked back at her. She had sunglasses on. June had forgotten hers in the car. She wasn’t used to having accessories again.
“You okay?” Trina asked.
“I just… I need a minute.” She told herself she would not throw up. Keeping a meal down was a nice change of pace. “You should have told me.”
“I didn’t know how.”
June rocked on the step. “I don’t want Sam to see me like this.”
“I think he would understand.”
“Maybe I don’t want him to.”
Trina looked out at the parking lot. “I’ll go wait in the car. Take a minute, whatever you need. I’ll tell him you needed to clear your head.”
Trina continued down the steps.
June was cold, though the air was hot. Her interior had frozen, deep down under her skin, where the sun couldn’t reach. Freedom was not the glorious thing she’d hoped it would be. People she cared about were still suffering, some of them still trapped. She remained helpless and defenseless; two things she’d gotten used to but had sincerely hoped she would finally be able to shed.
She wiped at her leaking eyes, sniffing. People passed by and glanced at her, but no one stopped. Perhaps they were used to people crying in front of the hospital.
A few minutes later, Sam crossed the lot toward her.
She took a deep breath and steeled herself; still, when he sat down beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder, she fell apart.
She slumped against his side, sobs wrenching out of her, the ones that had been threatening to break free in Micha’s room. She tucked her head against his shoulder, hands over her face, and he wrapped an arm around her. He was taking a risk, sitting with her out in public, and she was drawing even more attention to them.
He stroked her hair and didn’t say a word until her sobs tapered off.
“I take it he’s not doing well?” No sarcasm in his voice.
She wiped her face. Her cheeks were soaked with tears, her nose running. “He doesn’t deserve this,” she choked out.
“No, he doesn’t.”
Sam could predict the future, or else he knew what a crybaby she’d turned into. Like the night before when she saw her mother, he was ready with a wad of tissues. She took them and drew back, mopping her face.
Sam rubbed her shoulder.
“We shouldn’t be sitting here,” she said. “If someone realizes who we are, they might put two and two together and realize Micha is here.”
“Wouldn’t that be a shame? Then these doctors and scientists would have to put up with the press hounding them too.”
She still felt queasy, but not like throwing up, thankfully.
“He looks awful.” She propped her fists under her chin, hands full of tissues. “He looks like a corpse. He’s lost so much weight.”
“Eric’s noble work.”
“He keeps talking like he’s going to die. He doesn’t believe they’ll be able to make him better. He’s so pessimistic. All this talk about how he’s making the ultimate sacrifice for us.”
Sam huffed. “Quite full of himself, isn’t he? He’s starting to sound like me.”
She stared dully across the lot. Sunlight glinted on the cars. Her eyes hurt. They were swollen, her nose burning.
“He thinks he deserved this,” she said. “That all his presumptions led to this. I kept telling him it’s not his fault. He was a lab rat, like so many of us were.”
“What if he is dying? Will you be able to make peace with
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